Young Love
by The Avid Musician
Summary: As Van Helsing laughed, he gave away that he had history with Dracula in the form of a woman, his first and only true love and the Count's only chance to love again. Van Helsing/ OC/ Dracula
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Dracula is not mine. If it was mine, I would be over a hundred years old._

**Young Love**

**Chapter One  
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The Professor was laughing. How could he be _laughing_? Poor Lucy wasn't even cold in her grave! At least he was crying at the same time. When he had finally sobered, Dr. Seward asked, sounding very aggravated, "What has come over you, Doctor? Will you so disrespect Lucy?"

"Ah you don't comprehend, Friend John. Do not think that I am not sad, though I laugh. See I have cried even when the laugh did choke me. I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young girl; I give my blood for her, a chance I did not have last time; I give my time, my skill, my sleep, when before they were all ripped from me. I let my other suffers want that so she may have all. My heart bleed for that poor boy- that dear boy, so of the age of mine own boy had I been so blessed that he live, and with his hair and eyes the same. There, you know now why I love him so. And yet when he say things that touch my husband-heart to the quick, and make my father-heart yearn to him as to no other man- not even to you, Friend John, for we are more level in experiences than father and son. Oh! Friend John, it is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles."

"Then why do you laugh?"

"Oh, it was the rim irony of it all. This so lovely lady garlanded with flowers, that looked so fair as life, till one by one we wondered if she were truly dead; she laid in that so fine marble house in that lonely churchyard, where rest so many of her kin, laid there with the mother who loved her, and whom she loved. And, oh! So similar! She that I loved above all else, and was taken the same as this sweet girl!"

This certainly was a new development for Dr. Seward, who had no idea yet of this man's prior history with the fiend. Hesitantly, he said, "I can't see anything to laugh at in all that. Why, your explanation makes it a harder puzzle than before. But even if the burial service was comic, what about poor Art and his trouble? Why, his heart was simply breaking."

"Just so. Said he not that the transfusion of his blood to her veins had made her truly his bride?"

"Yes, and it was a sweet and comforting idea for him."

"Quite so. But there was a difficulty, Friend John. Is so that, then what about the others? Then this so sweet maid is a polyandrist, and me, with my poor wife dead to me in all save body- even I, who am faithful husband to this now-no-wife, am bigamist."

"I don't see where the joke comes in their either!" Dr. Seward huffed.

"Friend John, forgive me if I pain. I showed not my feeling to others when it would wound, but only to you, my old friend, whom I can trust. If you could have looked into my very heart that when I want to laugh; if you could have done so when the laugh arrived; if you could do so now, when King Laugh have pack up his crown and all that is to him- for he go far, far away from me, and for a long, long time- maybe yuou would perhaps pity me the most of all."

"Why?" Dr. Seward asked, being much more delicate and tender than his previous questioning.

"Because I know!"

Dr. Seward did not get the chance to ask what it was he knew before saying good-bye for the present. After much contemplation on the fact, Dr. Seward informed the others of his suspicions: that Van Helsing had a previous encounter with the fiend which prompted the fervour and persistence of his hunt of the vampire.

The following day, Mina Harker and her husband Jonathan Harker arrived at the residence of the departed Lucy Westenra, at which Prof. Van Helsing, Dr. Seward, and Quincey Morris still stayed.

Once Harker and Dr. Seward had arrived, all of them were present. They walked into the parlour where Dr. Van Helsing sat reading. He looked up from his book and immediately smiled warmly to us. "Welcome, my friends." Upon seeing the graveness of their manner, he asked in concern, "Is something wrong?"

Dr. Seward, being the one to which the cloue was presented, stepped forward and asked, "We have all heard that you have some prior history with the fiend we are pursuing."

At this point, Mrs. Harker stepped forward to ask, or rather say, the difficult part. "We would like to know what it is and if it will affect you."

Van Helsing smiled sadly and said, "I thank you for your concern, my friends, and I understand it. This is not easy for me. I have some documents which may help you to understand my history with the monster, for he and I have old business."

Van helsing left. A minute later, he returned with two old journals and a stack of papers which appeared to be letters and legal documents.

Your story begins in this book. It was Isolde Francesca Sforza's journal, which she started the day her father told her she would be marrying soon."

"What are the rest?" Mr. Morris asked.

"All in good time," Van Helsing said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Isolde Sforza's Journal**

**12 August 1852**

_ At the urging of my father, I am keeping a journal to document the remainder of my single life. My father is growing more and more ill with each passing week; because of this, he wishes me to marry whjilst he remains alive and able to, if not walk me down the wedding aisle, to at least roll in his new contraption: the wheel chair. It actually allows him to sit in this chair which is set on wheels rather than legs. A person, through the use of handles on the back of the chair, may push the chair, allowing an otherwise immobile person to move and retain at least a semblance of a normal life. To this point, I shall add that my father is by no means poor. He is a gentleman here in Milan. Due to this fact, my father wishes me to marry at the very least at the same station if not up into nobility. I've few prospects of this at present, thanks t my rather reclusive lifestyle. Currently the only time which I spend out in society is at the opera, for both my father and I share a love of that musical theatre. In fact, I have a feeling that were I not born of gentility, that is the very profession I would pursue._

_ I've only just noticed that I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Isolde Sforza. I am named after the heroine of the opera Tristan und Isolde, at which my parents met. Had I ben born a boy they would have named me Tristan. Fortunately, this tradition has not progressed any farther than the naming of children. For instance, were I to marry, whatever opera I see first after meeting the man who becomes my husband must have the name of my child. Thus far it has provided some very interesting names in my family, such as my father's name: Figarro. Every close friend of my father has shortened this name to Fig. I believe the Americans call this type of name a "nickname", if you will pardon the phrase._

_ I have, again, come to a realization. I have been rambling, and for that I apologize. I shall attempt to keep to the topic I was meant to write of: my life._

_ I have not yet met any of the suitors my father says have contacted him. As of yet, they seem to be of a somewhat lower class, which my father will not agree to unless there is no other alternative._

_ On another topic, my father has met a new doctor with some abnormal methods he says may help my father to live longer, though it will not cure him. The doctor is a Dutchman: Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, MD, etc. He is to meet us at the opera tonight: Don Giovanni. It is an old favourite of mine, as wel as the operatic community's. This may all seem well and good save for two things. The first of these is that Dr. Van Helsing is young, young enough for me to marry should my father choose. The second of these is that a doctor, in my father's eyes, is a gentleman, regardless of if he is a Dutchman or not. In telling me this, my father has, in essence, told me that should we both take a liking to each other (however minor it may be) I will likely be married to him out of desperation._

_ This is the point at which I regret my lack of intimate friends or acquaintances. I have no one but my father with which to share this, which is what truly prompted the genesis of this journal._

**Evening...**

_ That was the first time I saw him. He was dressed similarly to the other gentlemen and noblemen. He wore a black dress suit and cravat; a stiffly starched white shirt; and shining, black shoes. His black hair hung in curls to his shoulders. His eyes were red, perhaps from some trick of the light. His face was both pale and noble. His nose was high and aquiline; the skin below it was clean-shaven. Perhaps his most striking feature was his height, which exceeded, if I am not mistaken, six feet. His frame was also very thin, though I could see the hint of muscle beneath his surprisingly Engliush apparel. Beneath it...Never before have I had such thoughts. God forgive me. I shall write again later when my mind is again clear._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Dr. Van Helsing's Journal (Kept alongside his medical notes)**

I must confess that though my new patient's case is most intriguing, his daughter fascinates me more. She is beautiful and intelligent, but there is some silent understanding about her which I have not encountered before.

God knows I have never been one for aesthetics, but she is beautiful. Her hair is the colour of autumn leaves, and her eyes- oh! Her eyes! They shone as dark blue as the sky at twilight. Her skin was as pale as marble. Oh! That I could but touch it! But is she truly perfection? Or is it my heart clouding my vision? Making her an angelic phantom, a false vision of perfection?

Oh! But i do love her already! But she whom my heart longs for know not of my affection! It must be remedied! I must call on her tomorrow- No. That would be without the bounds of propriety. I must call on her father and hope to God she is there.

**Isolde's Journal**

**Later**

I have mastery of my mind once more. I shall attempt to convey all that happened that night. My father and I arrived at _La Scala_ precisely thirty minutes before the start of the performance, as we always do. Father and I weaved through the crowd in the lobby to the small hallway leading to our private box. I set my father near to the railing of the box and spoke with him for a few minutes before he urged me to, as he called it, "mingle in society." No doubt he meant for me to find a suitor to my liking somewhere in the mass of well-dressed gently and nobility that make up Milan's music-lovers.

Almost as soon as I returned to the throng of impeccably dressed patrons, husbands and wives with unmarried sons inquired after my health. The young men in question were gathered together in a group along with several young women around my age. They, noticing my presence, quickly began whispering amongst themselves. It would not be long before they began to approach me. Oh, how I loath this frustration society! Too many of these young socialites only attend to meet prospective suitors and appear intelligent and cultured. Most of them in fact have no taste for music. There are, of course, exceptions, most of which I am at least acquaintances. The others, though gentlemanly or lady-like, only associate with me to the point of acquiring my father's wealth and power.

It was not long before I saw a foppish, young man weaving his way through the crowd toward me. This was what I have dreaded: John Lestrade. He is, of course, rich, handsome, and very genteel. However, his company is so very irksome, despite the opinion he has of his charm and wit. I am happy to say it took but a minute's effort to lose him in the crowd.

Unfortunately in the process of evading him, I bumped into someone. It was a man: Count Dracula from Romania. He was the one I described earlier. In manner and address, he was charming and courteous. I could not ask for a better gentleman.

He steadied me before I could fall before going on to apologize to _me_. I attempted to stop him and apologize myself, but he would not allow me. He assured me in the most intriguing Eastern European accept that the fault was entirely his and that had he been paying attention, he would have noticed a lady as beautiful as I. I attempted to deny it, but he quickly assured my "an image of perfection cannot be refuted by any on Earth." I thanked him.

"What is your name, or shall I simply call you Aphrodite?" he asked.

"I am Isolde Sforza, and who, may I ask, are you?"

"I am Count Dracula," he said with a bow.

"I look forward to seeing you again, Count." I smiled at him before turning to walk away. As I walked back to my father's box, I could not help but feel that someone was watching me, though I dared not look back to find out.

When I entered my father's box, a young gentleman sat beside my father. I presumed it to be Dr. Van Helsing, which quickly proved true as my father introduced us. Van Helsing was quite courteous and intelligent, but I could not stop thinking of Count Dracula. My father noticed my wistfulness, but he only saw fit to recall me from my thoughts once before the overture began, and that was only to if I had met anyone in the lobby. I answered that I had met no one other than the usual. Even now as I think about it, I cannot for the life of me see why I did not wish to tell my father of the Count. In fact, I still have the oddest urge to keep my new acquaintance secret.

I was able to recall myself from my thoughts enough to enjoy the opera, that is until I again felt that someone was watching me. I looked around at the audience before spotted the very same man that had been occupying my thoughts staring at me from a box on the opposite of the Grand Tier. Even when it was clear that I saw him, he did not turn away. If anything, his gaze intensified. He was clearly studying me, though to what purpose I still must ask myself. If he was so shameless in his observation, I at least decided I should be able to do the same. This was how I was able to have such a complete description earlier.

I studied him unabashedly, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a smile of understanding and acknowledgement. He then nodded before looking pointedly down at the stage. Only then did I notice that the performers were on the final scene. For the rest of the performance, I kept my eyes on the stage, even though I soon felt the same feeling of being watched. I did not give in.

I did not see the Count again until Dr. Van Helsing helped me into my coat, and then he simply stood there staring whilst the crowd swarmed around him.

At the end of the evening, I could hardly remember a thing this new doctor had said or done. My mind was, and regrettably still is, filled with the Count. Or perhaps it is not so regrettable...Perhaps he will be a great friend to me, but is that really what I want?

I am anxious to attend the opera again and perhaps meet this mysterious Count Dracula once more.


End file.
